


Take Five

by lostmystrawberries



Category: Joe Mazzello - Fandom, The Social Network
Genre: Can you tell I haven't written fic in forever, Does The Social Network even have a fandom???, F/M, FINE I finally caved, Fluff, I don't even know what this is in terms of format, I'll tag as I go along, Joe Mazzello x Reader - Freeform, Lots of dialogue, Mentions of alcohol, Reader-Insert, The Social Network (2010) - Freeform, anyway..., is it a drabble? one shot?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24237787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostmystrawberries/pseuds/lostmystrawberries
Summary: You're an extra on the set ofThe Social Networkand a very friendly, slightly clumsy actor spills your water on you. The rest is history.
Relationships: Joe Mazzello/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting/meaning to write a reader x Joe for a loooong time but was Afraid(TM) and Procrastinating(TM), and now quarantine has finally gotten to me. Quarantine made me do it. Also, so much of this is just dialogue, oops. 
> 
> I think this'll be a few chapters? They're short chapters, maybe some of them will be longer later depending on what people like and/or what I feel like writing...who knows! Either way, I'm having fun writing this. I love Joe, I think he's an incredibly sweet guy and I'm so sorry if he ever finds this. RIP. Don't judge me too much.

_ “Three minutes!” _ comes a shout from off to your left. You cheer, your voice lost in the roar of other voices as the five extras in at the computers take shots of something that’s definitely  _ not _ the vodka it’s supposed to be. The room is loud and hot, even with the relatively low lighting, and you’re sweating a little. Hopefully you don’t look too shiny. 

“Cut!” calls the director, adjusting his baseball cap and wiping his brow. “That was great, guys, we’re just gonna see if the sound’s all good and then we can move on. Take five!” 

The room falls into a chatter, a constant murmur that seems to fill it even more than the cheers and chants of a few seconds before. You stretch and take a few steps forward, tapping one of the guys at the computers on the shoulder. “Hey, is that water?” you ask. “I’m so thirsty.” 

“Yeah, but I doubt you want this,” he says, “it’s like, room temperature and tastes like sand. There’s some outside, I’m pretty sure the assistants have some cold bottles. Actually, can you grab me one?” 

“Sure,” you nod, “thanks.” You make your way through the crowd of other extras and out into the hallway. It’s not  _ actually _ Harvard, it’s Wheelock College, but pretty much every college you’ve visited for touring, visiting friends, or whatever else has looked pretty similar. 

It takes you all of ten seconds to zero in on the cooler of mini water bottles. You smile politely at the assistant hovering around and grab two before cracking your own and downing half of it, and only half of it, before someone bumps your elbow and much of the rest of it dribbles down your chin. “Hey,” you protest, awkwardly thrusting your head forward to keep the water from getting on your clothes. 

“Oh, shit.” The guy who bumped you turns around. His eyes are wide, and you’re fairly sure you can see genuine remorse in them. “I’m really sorry. You want a paper towel or something? I’ll grab you another water.” He’s off again before you can even accept his offer, and all you can do is stand there with your hand under your chin until you see him coming back. 

“Here,” he says, handing you the paper towel with a guilty smile. “Seriously, I’m really sorry.” 

“You’re fine,” you reply, partly focused on wiping your face and partly on holding the open water bottle away from you so you don’t spill again. “Thanks for the paper towel.” You look up, and it takes a second for it to hit you, but you realize he’s one of what the director mentioned as “the squad” - the main actors. “You’re, uh...Dustin?” you ask, hoping you’re at least close. 

“Actually I’m Joe, but yeah, I’m Dustin,” he nods. “You?” 

“Uhh, background female extra number whatever,” you grin, “just one of the extras. I’ve always wanted to be an extra ever since  _ Grownups _ was filmed in the town where I grew up and I missed out on my chance. I wasn’t about to let this one pass me by.” 

“You’re doing a great job,” he says, an easy smile coming over his face. He seems to smile with his whole face, too. He’s pretty cute.

“Because you guys can totally see me,” you joke, “I’m way in the back.” 

“Well it’s not exactly a big room,” he teases, “I  _ must  _ have seen you at some point.” 

“Oh really? What was I doing five minutes ago?” 

“I was working!” he protests, “I had to hit my marks!” 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” The warning bell sounds, and you look toward the door. “Shit, I told one of the guys at the computers I’d bring him this other water. See you in there, I guess.” You smile up at him. “Break a leg.” 

“Thanks,” you hear him say, but you’re already walking a few steps in front of him. You look over your shoulder and offer a smile, not wanting to be rude, before you slip back into the room and plop the mini water on the desk. 

“What took so long?” asks the guy. 

“Someone made me spill mine. Next time  _ you’re _ getting  _ me _ one.” 

“Oh, that sucks,” he says, cracking the cap open. “Thanks.” He holds the bottle up, and you give a nod before finding your way back to your spot. 

Luckily for you, it’s only a few more takes until the director is satisfied and everyone’s allowed to leave. You’re shuffling out the door with everyone else, chatting to the girl next to you about maybe going for drinks once everyone’s cleaned up and not in 2003 clothes anymore when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn your head to see the water guy -  _ well no, Dustin - no, his real name’s Joe _ \- with another tiny water bottle. 

“One for the road?” he asks with a grin. 

“Why not,” you laugh. “Thanks.” 

“Nice job back there,” he says, yanking his jacket on. 

“How nice of you to look.” It’s a miracle your cheeks aren’t pink yet, it usually takes about two seconds of banter before you blush. Your new friend isn’t really helping, since she’s trying to suppress a grin that you can totally see out of the corner of your eye. 

“Well, now I know your face and I can find you.” He zips up the jacket and keeps walking beside you. “What’s your plan for the next oh, hour or so?” 

_ Was he really asking this? _ “Actually, we were gonna go get drinks, Cece knows a good bar that’s close,” you manage to say, gesturing toward my friend. 

“Great! I can get some of the guys to come too,” he says. “Not one of us knows Boston at all, we’ve been relying on all you guys for restaurant recommendations.” He’s got the same friendly smile on again, and at this point, you probably couldn’t say no even if you wanted to. 

“Yeah, bring on ‘the guys,’” you grin.  _ Now _ you’re blushing. Damn it. “We’re just gonna change into normal clothes. Cece, what’s the place called again?” 

It doesn’t take long to exchange the name of the place and part ways. And not a second too soon. 

“He’s cute,” Cece grins, “didn’t know you were into redheads.” 

“Listen, he brought me a water and a paper towel and smiled at me like that, what was I supposed to do?  _ Not _ be charmed?” 


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Joe get drinks. At least he's not spilling beer on you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo am back with another chapter! This is fun to write and I hope you enjoy it (and I also hope you like horseback riding)!
> 
> There are mentions of alcohol/drinking in this chapter.

It’s a pub, not a bar. You’re not complaining though, you like pubs better anyway. Somehow, it’s easier to have a conversation in a pub.

It’s a busy pub tonight, especially for a Tuesday, but when you look a little harder you realize it’s because most of your fellow extras are also there. Emphasis on extras, since you still haven’t seen any sign of Joe or “the guys” he was talking about. Cece had melted into the crowd with the promise of returning with a beer as soon as the two of you had gotten there, and now she reemerges with the promised pints. Her eyes aren’t on you though, and you turn around to see what she’s looking at just in time to catch Joe and several of the other guys walk in. 

“I think everyone else had the same idea we did,” he says, smiling at you. 

“Yeah, looks like it,” you reply in a half-shout. 

“Hi,” Cece greets him as she hands you your pint, “where are your guys?” 

“They’re somewhere, I swear I just walked in with them,” says Joe. “Jesse’s here somewhere, Max, Toby…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely behind him. “All somewhere.” He smiles at you. “Beer any good?”

“Pretty good, yeah,” you nod, “you want one? I can grab it.”  _ Did you really just offer to buy a guy beer? _ Maybe you were a little deeper than you thought. Cece shoots you a look. 

“That’s not gonna happen,” he says, shaking his head and tsk-ing playfully. “Come with me to the bar though, since we seem to have lost everyone?” 

“I’m gonna go pee,” says Cece, dropping what you fear might be the world’s most obvious wink and making a graceful exit in spite of it. “Have fun though!” Curse her and her graceful exits.

You shrug and follow him over. Why not? You’re about halfway through your beer already as you wait for him, and you’re hoping it’ll make you a little better at conversing. He turns around with a beer in each hand and a huge, open-mouthed grin on his face. “Got you one!” he crows, as if paying $3 for a pint is a victory. “Where do we go?” 

You look around, scanning for an empty table. There are none, of course, so you opt for a somewhat-clear piece of real estate near the door and jerk your head towards it. “That looks like kinda enough space,” you shout over the noise that’s only increased since you got there. 

Joe nods and leads the way, shimmying through the crowd of twenty-somethings with the beers held high in hopes they won’t spill. Once the two of you make it to the promised land, he lowers the beers to a more reasonable height and holds one out to you.

“You sure?” you ask, your fingers outstretched but your lingering politeness getting the better of you.

“Absolutely. Now take it before I can spill it on you again.” 

That makes you laugh, and you take it with a soft “fine, fine” of surrender. You slug the rest of your first beer and put it down on a nearby table, just out of reach of someone’s elbow, resolving to repay Cece later. 

“So,” Joe asks, taking a sip, “oh wow, that’s good. Kinda took the words out of my mouth...oh! What do you do when you’re not being an extra?” 

“I go to Lesley, it’s not that far from Harvard,” you reply. “Beer’s that good?” You take a sip, resolved to see for yourself. He’s right, whatever he ordered  _ is _ pretty good. “Are there spices in here or something?” 

“It kinda tastes like it. I’m not a beer expert or anything, but I guess you could describe it as spicy.” 

“But it’s not spicy though, it’s more like...I dunno, there’s cloves in here or something.” 

One roughly-ten-minute conversation later, you’re both done with your drinks. Since you’re on your second, you’re starting to feel a nice warm buzz and the nervous energy around actually having a conversation with a cute guy for the first time in months has mostly disappeared. You’ve learned he loves baseball, is pretty enthusiastic about the Yankees (sadly), and that his parents run a dance studio or something like that. 

“I’m gonna go get another. Can I get you one this time?” you ask, a grin firmly tucked into the side of your mouth. 

“Oh, fine,” he says, throwing up his hands in mock-offense. 

You can’t help but smile wider as you gather up your glasses and hold out your hand for his. As you take his glass, you catch his eye. You’re more than a bit close, and you can feel your cheeks starting to heat up again. Thankfully, the crowd swallows you as you shuffle hurriedly towards the bar. You have  _ got _ to repay Cece. 

When you’ve threaded your way through the crowd, you set the glasses down on the bar with a solid  _ thunk _ and order three more pints. Miraculously, Cece appears at your elbow as the bartender is pouring your drinks. “So? What’s he like?” she asks excitedly. “Is he funny? Is he a stuck-up actor?” 

“Yes to funny, no to stuck-up actor,” you grin, handing her the first full pint. “This is for you, wingman. So far the only bad thing is that he’s a Yankees fan.” 

“Aw, what the hell,” she protests, “that’s like, almost a dealbreaker for me!” 

“I have plans to tease him about it,” you reply with an arched eyebrow, “except I guess I can’t say much without reminding me we haven’t won since the early 1900s and they won like two years ago.” 

“At least he’s cute,” she grins. “Have fun with him! Come find me if he gets creepy.” 

“Thanks Cece,” you say with a wave as she disappears into the crowd again. She’s pretty short, so all you can see is her tight curls bouncing away from you. You take that as your cue to make your way back to Joe. 

He’s leaning against the wall when you get back, his arms crossed over his chest as he scans the mass of people. His face brightens immediately when he catches sight of you, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “I thought you died out there!” 

“Well, next time you can go,” you retort, handing him the beer and joining him against the wall. “It’s kind of a zoo.” 

“Thanks for the beer and risking your life to get it,” he grins. 

“Did I risk my life though?” you ask, looking up at him with your head tilted. 

“Okay, maybe not. I just have war on the brain.”

“Why?” 

“I just finished shooting a series on the war in the Pacific. It’s based on real events, obviously, and real people. It was a cool experience, I made a couple really good friends, but  _ man _ ,” he closes his eyes and gives his head a small shake, “I really got to see the hell those guys had to go through.” 

You watch him as he talks. His hands are flying, and it’s a miracle he’s not spilling his beer. “I gotta imagine it was hard work, too. Every war movie or show I’ve ever seen has everyone running all over the place.” 

“It was a lot of running,” he nods, sipping his beer wisely. “I think it kept me in pretty good shape, but it’s been a little while since then. No more skinny Joe,” he laughs. 

“What else have you done?” Now you’re curious; you’d never really been interested in acting yourself - the only experience you’d ever had of the theatre was a summer program in fourth grade - but if you had to guess, you’d probably say that was different from whatever experiences he’d had. 

“Okay, I don’t want to toot my own horn here, and there’s a chance you won’t believe me,” he says with a smile. “You wanna know what most people know me as?” 

“Just say it.” You roll your eyes over the rim of your glass, but you can’t help the smile that’s firmly planted on your own face. 

“I’m the kid from  _ Jurassic Park _ .” 

“What? The little one who gets stuck in the tree?!” You push yourself off the wall to look him up and down. You squint in the dim light, examining his face. Yep, you can definitely see it. “Okay, I think I believe you, but that opens a whole new can of worms - what was that like?” 

He laughs. “You believed me a lot faster than some people. I mean, I promise it’s still true. And it was pretty fun, I think my favorite scene was where I got to get ‘shocked’ off the electric fence. I just kinda let myself fall backward and land on the giant squishy mat they had. Everyone freaked out, but I was fine.” 

Now  _ this _ made sense. You’d seen the movie when you were probably about eight or nine and had a crush on this little rambunctious redheaded ice cream-eating kid, no wonder you still thought he was attractive. “Well damn,” you say, “I’m impressed.” 

“That’s a good sign,” he grins, finishing his beer. 

“It is?” You can feel a little flutter in the pit of your stomach, and you’re pretty sure it’s not from the beer. A good sign? 

“Um, yeah,” he says, “but enough about me. What about you?” It feels as if he’s backing off, as if he was going to say something else. 

You sigh internally.  _ Oops. _ “Well, I think I’ve tried pretty much everything a kid can try. I did swimming, ballet, gymnastics, horseback riding, the world’s tiniest bit of acting, skiing...oh, and I’m on the staff of the newspaper at school. Tadaaaaa!” You throw out a sarcastic jazz hand. 

“That’s pretty impressive,” he says, “seriously. Horseback riding would be fun.” 

“Yeah, it was awesome. I really miss it.” You really do miss it, you’ve only ridden once or twice since then, and only one of those times you actually got to go faster than a walking pace. 

“Would you do it again?” he asks. 

“Are you kidding? I’d do it every week if I could,” you reply, looking up at him earnestly.

He looks at you, suddenly seeming a little more hesitant. “If I got your number would you wanna do it with me on Friday?” he asks. 

Your cheeks heat up, and you can tell they’re about the same shade as a ripe tomato. “Yeah, I think that’s a good exchange,” you nod. 

“Cool. I’ll go get a napkin,” he says, the grin returning to his face. 


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horses are nice. So is Joe.

Friday can’t come quickly enough. Since you’d only been an extra for that one day, life went on as usual: finals were this week, and your internship was ending. The exams were easy enough, since they were your last, and the internship wasn’t  _ technically _ ending, since the company was taking you on as a full-time employee once you graduated on Saturday. Plus, you’re moving in with some of your college friends anyway. It’s still a little bittersweet to be packing up your apartment and saying goodbye to your professors, but you know you’ll stay in touch. 

When Friday does come around, you’ve finished all your finals and are still in the thick of getting your things into the moving van. You and Joe had worked out, through a few phone calls during the week, that he’d meet you at your apartment in the late afternoon and you’d drive the U-Haul you’d rented to your new apartment and leave from there to go riding. He’d even offered to move the date, but you’d stubbornly refused; you wanted something cheerful after the hard work of moving out. 

When the inevitable knock sounds on your door, golden light is pouring through the windows of your now-empty bedroom. You straighten up and make your way to the front door, stopping only for a second to take a breath and glance in the mirror before you open it. 

“Hi there,” says Joe. At least, you’re mostly sure it’s him; the man standing in front of you is wearing sunglasses and a Yankees baseball cap. 

“Hi,” you say with a grin, “you hiding from the government or something?” 

“Don’t laugh, I was outside and I burn embarrassingly easily,” he protests as he steps inside. He takes off the glasses, but the hat stays firmly on his head. 

“So do I, actually, but you  _ cannot _ keep wearing that hat around here. Someone’s gonna throw an egg at you or worse.” 

“It’s my lucky hat though!” 

“Put it in your pocket or something. Here, I’ve got one you can wear instead,” you offer. 

“Is it --” 

“No, it’s not a Red Sox hat, I promise,” you cut him off. “It’s a Patriots one.” 

“Very sneaky,” he says, “but if it keeps me from getting an egg to the face, I’ll take it.” He adjusts the strap at the back and puts it on. “Comfy.” 

“Not sneaky, resourceful,” you retort, “you’re lucky I had this last box.” It’d taken a lot of sweat and a little bit of blood - you cut your finger on one of the cardboard boxes - to get packed, and you’d decided to shower before he arrived. Your hair was mostly dry by now, and you didn’t feel  _ too _ sweaty, but that meant your still-damp towel was also in the box.

“I can get that last box,” he offers, “consider it my moving-out gift to you.” 

“If you insist,” you shrug. It doesn’t take much convincing; you know you’ll have to unload everything later and even though your roommates said they’d help, you’re not looking forward to it. He picks up the box, and you go to hold open the door for him, locking it once it shuts and dropping the keys in the mailbox. “Goodbye, house.” 

“Goodbye house,” Joe echoes. “I knew you so briefly, but I’m sure you have many good memories,” he continues with a flair. 

You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, Shakespeare, come on. Put the box in the back, then you’re riding up front with me. Unless you wanna ride with the boxes.” 

The ride to your new apartment isn’t too long. The two of you chat back and forth, with frequent and loud interjections about how everyone else on the road is driving, and it’s not long until you pull up next to the curb right behind your car, which your roommate Amber’s boyfriend had driven there for you in exchange for a Snickers bar. 

“We’re just gonna leave everything in here, I’ll unpack it tomorrow morning,” you say as you open the door and hop down from the lofty driver’s seat. 

“Does that mean you’ll have to sleep on the floor?” asks Joe, frowning. 

“Oh, no,” you laugh, “my bed’s already in there. But it’s literally  _ just _ my bed.” 

“I guess I don’t feel  _ as _ bad not helping you get stuff in.” 

“Trust me, I’d love all the help I can get, but our reservation is for an hour from now and it takes about 45 minutes to get there, so let’s get moving.” You point him toward your car and unlock it. The MapQuest directions are laying on the passenger seat, and you snatch them out of the way before he can sit on them. 

One 45-minute ride later, the golden sunlight has turned almost orange and bathes everything in its glow as we pull up to the stable where Joe had reserved our ride during the week. You’d found the place, knowing the area quite a bit better than him, but he’d made the call since you were busy with finals. Either way, it looks like a postcard; the stables stand just tall enough that the evening sun peeks over them, and the fields are bordered by wooden fences that stretch way back. 

“Wow,” you hear Joe say from the other side of the car, “this is beautiful. It kind of reminds me of home.” 

“Where’s home for you?” you ask as you pull on a sweatshirt and grab your wallet and phone. 

“Upstate New York, kind of in the middle of nowhere.” 

“I guess I could see how this looks like New York. I’ve only ever been to the actual city and to a farm camp about halfway up,” you muse. 

The owner of the farm is a kind, slightly portly man, probably in his fifties, who helps the two of you tack up and get on your horses. Upstate New York must’ve afforded Joe at least a few opportunities to ride, because he gets on with relative ease. You look over at him and grin as the farmer starts to lead you down the path. “You lucked out,” he calls over his shoulder, “usually it’s a bigger group than this.” 

You smile politely at him, nodding as he speaks. Mostly, you’re interested in the trail; the last of the sun is filtering through the trees, and you can see each beam in the slight humidity of the mid-May night. Your horse seems kind of nonplussed at the prospect of plodding behind and lets out a soft sigh. 

“How good are you?” Joe asks, looking over. “Just out of curiosity, no pressure.

“I mean, the last time I rode was my first year of college, but I did okay,” you answer. “Why? How good are  _ you _ ?”

“Good enough to maybe go a little faster,” he says. “Excuse me?” 

The farmer turns his head. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says, and you swear you can see a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll go faster once we get out of the woods, there’s a bigger trail right up here.” 

“Thanks,” you call up to him, giving Joe a grin. “No racing though, I just wanna see how it goes.” 

Zooming across that field is one of the most exhilarating few minutes of your life. It’s a little rocky at first, but within a few seconds you find your balance. The wind in your face is sharper than you’d thought, but it’s refreshing. Once you reach the other side, you turn your horse and wait for Joe and the farmer, who are only a few seconds behind you. 

“Shoulda warned you, he’s fast,” the farmer pants, “how’d you do?” 

“That was awesome,” is all you can manage, but the giant grin on your face probably says enough. You look over at Joe. “What about you, Mr. Rural New York?”

“It’s been way too long since I did that,” he says, matching your grin, and you can see the delighted little boy in him shining out through his eyes. “Ten out of ten.” 

The three of you trot back across the field, then slow to a walk on the forest trail. The farmer is an unusually chatty one, and eventually Joe’s career comes up and he asks if he’d like to sign the barn post. “We’ve had a few other actors out here,” he says proudly, “Adam Sandler came with his kids once.” 

“I’d be honored,” Joe nods excitedly, “yeah, thanks.” 

The farmer’s true to his word, and Joe even adds a little smiley face to his signature before you both bid the farmer goodbye and get back in the car. 

“Not bad,” you say, “I’d definitely come here again.” 

“Ten out of ten first date,” Joe agrees. 

You can feel your cheeks get hot as you look over at him. “First date, huh?” 

“Unless you’d prefer dinner. Then we could just count this one as hanging out,” he smiles. 

You bite your lip, feeling like if you don’t, you’ll explode. “Nah, I think I’ll keep this one.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is horseback riding a weird first date? I think it would be kind of awesome, but who knows. 
> 
> Also, I know these chapters are super short, but I figured bite-size would be easier to read and fun to anticipate? I'm starting work tomorrow so I might have less time to work on them, but that might also mean they'll be longer. We'll see!


End file.
